Rushing water

If it keeps on raining, the levee's going to break

Day 5, Dry Creek to Porter's Gap

Saturday, April 16, 2022

Thru-hikers have many shared expressions. "The trail provides" is one in particular that is often repeated. If you hear it, you know a hiker's need for food, water, a ride, or medical attention was fulfilled unexpectedly, almost magically. It's said so frequently, we thru-hikers take it as trail gospel.

Yet here is another truth: The trail doesn't care.

The trail is indifferent to your needs if you are cold, wet, or thirsty. It couldn't care less about your feet covered in blisters. A mountain you must climb or a sudden snowstorm pays no heed to your feelings and physical condition.

Yes, a magical moment may happen to pull you through one of those circumstances. You might get the help you need, but there’s no guarantee you will. That's when you have to suck it up. You’re on your own to get through what the trail has thrown at you.

Weather Thunderstorms in the early morning and early evening, temperatures from the mid-50s to mid-70s
Trail Conditions A stream crossing in swift current, then a wet though easy route to the trailhead
Today's Miles 3.6 miles
Trip Miles 58.4 miles

Tengo Hambre and I have hiked enough miles to understand this. Too many times to count, the trail has told us, "Buddy, you're on your own.” Like it or not, we had to deal with it.

The trail did that again today, starting around 1 a.m. At first, there were just rumbles of distant thunder. Light rain began to fall about 30 minutes later.

The thunder and rain were unexpected for this time. I thought the bad weather was supposed to arrive later, and hopefully, it would happen after we got to the hostel in Talladega.

We pitched our tents without thinking of what might happen to the creek next to us if a storm passed through overnight. Hearing the thunder, I became a little alarmed about the possibility of heavy rain. Hoping to ease my worry, I turned on my phone to read comments posted in the FarOut navigation app about our campsite and the two stream crossings that were just ahead.

"Second crossing very dicey. Strong current," said one comment. "After the night before and last night's rain, it looks like the Ocoee River!" said another.

There were other comments with warnings like this, but I also found a small measure of comfort in them. None mentioned the trail or the campsite being flooded by the creek overrunning its banks. I was relieved to know we didn’t need to pack up immediately and move to higher ground.

Gravity's tent splattered with mud

When the rain stopped at 2 a.m., I decided I had worried too much. That was until the rain started again, and this time, it didn’t stop. It continued until 7:30 a.m.

Now I knew the creek crossings ahead would be difficult. When I exited my tent, it was splattered in mud. I was just glad the creek hadn't forced us to pack up overnight and move.

Tengo crosses Dry Creek

Based on the comments I read in the FarOut app, I didn’t expect the first crossing to be difficult. That turned out to be true. The water was barely higher than our ankles.

The second crossing was another story.

Tengo looks at the rushing water

That stream was just a few yards beyond the first crossing. A cascade of water gushed down a slope to our right, overflowing the creek bed it normally followed.

The strong current wasn’t just intimidating. We couldn’t see an obvious place to safely cross because of it. So much silt was churned up in the water we couldn't see the bottom. There was no way to tell how deep the creek was or where there were rocks we might stumble over.

If we were here yesterday, the water would have been much lower. Instead, we needed to spend several minutes scouting for the safest route before carefully fording across the rushing water. My legs were completely below the water’s surface.

For obvious reasons, I didn't stop to snap a photo. I remained focused and took slow, deliberate steps. After a precarious couple of minutes, we both safely made it to the other side.

Jogloma-Scott Lake

The trail then took us around Jogloma-Scott Lake. I assumed it was a manmade reservoir but couldn’t see the dam to know for sure. I decided it must have been where the cascade of water poured into the creek.

The ruined foundation of a cabin

A minute or two later, I saw the ruins of a foundation. Now I knew the area had been inhabited years ago, but I didn’t know anything else about it. No signage was nearby to explain the lake or foundation, and the app and map offered no clues.

I didn't learn until later that Alabama officials acquired this land in 1856 while working on a plan to extend the Alabama and Tennessee Railroad through the region. Perhaps because of the Civil War, the rail line was never built.

The state attempted to sell the land in 1931, but a buyer didn’t come forward until 1945. He was a mechanic from Talladega named O. C. "Offie” Scott, and he paid $59.

In the next few years, Scott turned the area into a recreation spot for his family. He built a road, three cabins, and a 200-foot earthen dam on the creek. That’s how the lake came to be. The name he gave the lake, Jogloma, was made with letters from the names of his wife and their two daughters.

The U.S. Forest Service acquired the land in the early 1970s and there was talk of turning the lake into a public recreational site. Just like the railroad extension, however, the plan never moved forward.

A flat spot for a possible campsite

Ironically, we passed a large, flat campsite near the lake. If we had camped there last night, we wouldn't have risked being swept downstream while crossing the creek this morning.

I learned later from my research about the lake that a hiker shelter might be built on this spot. The proposal is included in a master plan for the Pinhoti Trail that was written in 2019 for the Alabama Trails Foundation.

Only time will tell if the shelter is another idea that never goes anywhere.

A small stream crosses the trail

From the lake, Tengo and I had another 3.5 miles to go to reach Porter's Gap. That was where we were supposed to call the hostel and ask to be picked up. There was barely any elevation gain and only one more minor stream crossing along the way.

Porter's Gap

Porter's Gap was at State Highway 77. We arrived there at 10:40 a.m. After making our way to a parking area at a trailhead, we called Next Step Hostel.

The hostel's owners are Jeff and Nancy Hayes. Within a few minutes, Nancy arrived to drive us to Talladega.

Next Step Hostel

The hostel was in a cabin, one of three buildings on the property. In it were beds, a small kitchen, and a washer and dryer to do our clothes. A couple of showers were located outside.

Tengo and I knew there weren’t many other hikers on the trail, and our stay here confirmed that. We had the hostel to ourselves. We hung our tents and other wet gear outside on the cabin's porch to dry.

When we finished getting cleaned up, Jeff gave us the key to his truck, and we left to get some lunch and shop at Walmart. I didn’t need to resupply because I had mailed a box of food to the hostel, but Tengo did.

Although the "surgery" I performed on my shoes yesterday helped my feet, they were still sore. I bought Epsom salt and lidocaine cream to give them some relief.

After we returned to the hostel, we sat on the porch with Jeff. I soaked my feet in an Epsom salt bath while we chatted for a long time. He told us he and Nancy thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2014. That experience inspired them to give back to the hiking community by opening a hostel for Pinhoti Trail hikers.

Remarkably, Nancy and Jeff don’t charge a fee for staying in the hostel or for the rides they give to and from the trail. Tengo and I agreed we should leave a donation before we left tomorrow.

A double rainbow over Talladega

The start of the day was a little rough, but that was all in the past. Now we were comfortable and dry. When another brief storm passed through late in the day, it left behind a double rainbow.

The trail showed a lack of concern for our well-being this morning. We had to deal with a treacherous stream crossing on our own. Yet also today, we experienced again how the way the trail community helps one another. That included the unexpected use of a truck to run errands.

The trail doesn’t care. The trail provides. Isn’t it remarkable how both can be true?

If it keeps on raining, levee's going to break
If it keeps on raining, the levee's going to break
When the levee breaks, have no place to stay

Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan, oh
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan
It's got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home
Oh well, oh well, oh well, ooh

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